Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“What’s the worst heartbreak you’ve ever had?”
Her lashes flutter, surprised. Not the question she expected and not the one I had planned to ask.
“I think...” she says quietly, staring at our hands. “The worst heartbreak wasn’t from a person. It was from realizing someone I trusted wasn’t who I thought they were.” She glances up at me. “People always think heartbreak comes from romance. But sometimes it’s bigger than that. Family. Friends. The worst kind of heartache is when a friend doesn’t want to be your friend anymore.”
I stay quiet, letting her take her time.
“What friend?” I ask eventually, my voice low.
She lets out a breath. “A girl Nova and I met in college. Freshman year, dorm room two doors down from mine. We all clicked so fast it was like we were sisters or something. Late-night study sessions, road trips, birthdays, everything.”
Poppy’s mouth twists, and she picks at a loose thread on the pillow between us. “And then... I don’t know. Things started changing. She got busier. Started making plans to hang out with Nova, but not with me. Her excuses were insulting. Always had some reason she couldn’t come or needed to reschedule.”
“I had the worst complex from it,” she goes on, humorlessly. “At first, I thought it was me—like maybe I was too boring. Maybe I wasn’t cool enough. Then I realized she was just done. No big blow-up. No explanation. Just... done. And I’ve been left to wonder what the hell I did to piss her off, and I’ll never know because Nova stopped speaking to her.”
“As a united front?”
Poppy nods. “She’s loyal to a fault.”
“That’s a good friend.”
“She is,” Poppy agrees. “I got lucky. She’s one of the good ones.”
I trace slow circles against the blanket with one finger, pretending it’s not because I want her to touch me, all the while stealing glances at her face.
“You’re the farthest thing from boring, Poppy,” I say at last. “You’re electric.”
Her mouth parts, stunned, and then she gives this tiny, wrecked laugh like she doesn’t know what to do with the compliment. Like it’s too big to hold.
I reach out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear without thinking.
She leans into my touch.
I wonder what would happen if I let my thumb skim along her jaw. If I leaned in closer. If I—
No, dude.
Boundaries.
You’re roommates.
You’re a fucking idiot.
Eventually, she yawns, flopping onto her back, gazing up at my ceiling, the straps of her white tank top falling down her arms, drawing my eyes to the peaks of nipples flirting with the thin fabric.
“You’re good at this,” Poppy mutters.
“At what?”
“This.” She waves a hand vaguely between us. “Listening. Affirming. Not making things weird.”
Oh, sweetheart—if only you knew all the very weird things that I want to do to you.
I stretch out beside her, one arm slung behind my head, pretending like I’m relaxed when every muscle in my body is wired tight and on high alert. She’s close enough that if I turned my head, I could breathe her in, memorize the scent of her shampoo, kiss the corner of her mouth before she even had time to gasp.
She’s beautiful like this.
No make-up.
Hair fanning around her like a halo, across my pillow.
Smooth skin.
Smooth legs.
Does she know what she's doing to me? How badly I want to roll over, drag her under me, and find out if her mouth tastes as sweet as it looks?
And when her fingers skim lightly against my forearm, the tiniest accidental touch, it’s a goddamn revelation.
My chest aches with it.
My cock aches with it.
poppy
. . .
Iwake up in a bed that's not mine.
Turner’s bed.
Turner’s room.
I roll onto my back, blinking against the pale morning light leaking in through his blinds, half-expecting to find his stupidly handsome face tucked into the pillow beside me.
But his side is empty.
The sheets are cold.
The weight of him—gone.
I sit up slowly, adjusting my tank top over my stomach, breathing in the smell of him lingering in the air. Cologne. Body wash. Whatever it is, it's disorienting how comforting it is. How much I miss the warm feel of his solid body lying next to me.
God. Last night.
It was—
It felt…
So nice.
So easy.
The kind of easy you don’t realize you’re starving for until you finally get a taste of it and then all you can think about is how badly you want more.
Just me, my thundering heart, and the desperate need to scream into my pillow like a teenage girl!
Gah!
I shift on the mattress, pulling the covers up to my waist, palms pressed against the cool fabric where Turner slept.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I breathe him in one last time (because apparently my soul is in full feral mode this morning) then force myself to get up out of the bed.
I tiptoe to the door and peek out, peering down the hallway like a criminal even though technically, I live here.